Glory on Earth

At one
point during Glory on Earth, its two main characters—stage right, the
young, romantic Mary, Queen of Scots; stage left, the firebrand Protestant
preacher John Knox—are each writing letters to the English Queen, Elizabeth.
Hers is full of hopeful friendliness and optimism; his, strident warnings of
the dangers from a Catholic revival in Scotland. His letter is folded and
sealed with burning wax; she instead uses a modern-day self-sealing envelope.

Much of this play’s energy comes from the constant interaction between Morison as Mary and her girl-band chorus of six, who play the Queen’s retinue

That
one short scene epitomises much about both Linda McLean’s script and Royal
Lyceum Artist Director David Greig’s choices in bringing it to “his” stage.
McLean follows many notable writers in reimagining Mary, with an opening that
all-but name-check’s Liz Lochhead’s iconic 1987 play Mary Queen of Scots Got
Her Head Chopped Off. But while Lochhead looked at the complicated
relationship between Mary and her cousin Elizabeth, McLean instead focuses on
the conflict between Mary and Knox: Catholic Queen versus Reformation
Protestant; fun-loving youth versus dull-old middle-age; pragmatic compromiser
versus religious fundamentalist; woman versus man.

Admittedly,
basing her play around this binary conflict isn’t without problems, given that
McLean essentially criticises Knox for having “no greys” in just such a world
view. As it is, Jamie Sives provides a suitably austere, condemning Knox
(although his voice never quite fills the space as you feel it should), but—one
moment of anguish about his dead wife notwithstanding—he has little emotional
room in which to manoeuvre. Rona Morison, as the Queen, is obviously provided
with more opportunities to gain our sympathies, but again there’s something in
the portrayal that means we never entirely warm to her.

Greig’s
staging is clean and simple, the beautiful suggestions of arches from Karen
Tennent matched by the bold, painterly lighting by Simon Wilkinson. Composer
Michael John McCarthy also successfully emphasises the differences between Mary
and Knox; he, associated with 16th century psalm-singing, she with a somewhat
more diverse—and up-to-date—playlist. Sound is just one tool that Greig uses to
highlight the continuing relevancies of Mary’s story; not least her stated
intent to maintain Scotland’s links with Europe. That rings particularly true
in the Scottish capital, where three quarters of voters wanted to remain in the
EU.

Much
of this play’s energy comes from the constant interaction between Morison as
Mary and her girl-band chorus of six, who play the Queen’s retinue, members of
her Privy Council, and other characters when required. And yet dramatically the
most effective scene remains the one-on-one meeting between Mary and Knox,
without any witnesses; a reminder of how dialogue and acting alone can still hit
the spot without need for other theatrical tricks.

Paul F Cockburn is an Edinburgh-based freelance magazine journalist. Since 2012 he has become one of Broadway Baby's most regular contributors, having written more than 400 reviews for the site. As Scotland editor he coordinates Broadway Baby's Scottish theatre coverage beyond the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

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The Blurb

“Whom shall I believe? And who shall be judge?”

Tuesday, 19 August, 1561, 9am. Through the fog a ship arrives in Leith docks, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots steps ashore. She is 18 and on her young shoulders rest the hopes of the Catholic establishment of Europe.

The Nation that receives her has just outlawed her church and its practices. Its leader is the radical cleric and protestant reformer, John Knox. Both believe themselves ordained by God. Both believe themselves beloved by their people. Both were exiled and returned home, but only one can make Scotland their own.